


Dear Detective

by MundaneSalad



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Horror, Listen I tried my best to write violence this time, Mystery, Rated For Violence, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneSalad/pseuds/MundaneSalad
Summary: Detective Nick Valentine and the Sole Survivor unravel the mystery of the Fens Phantom, a pre-war serial killer.





	Dear Detective

“At least we don’t have to worry about this bastard running around Boston,” Nick Valentine sighed, prodding the stained mattress with his toe.  “He’s been dead for centuries.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that there are hundreds of other fuckos running around up there,”  Lynn countered, absentmindedly wiping fresh blood off her glasses.

“Yeah, like that Pickman guy you willing let go of _even after_ he told you he was a serial killer,”  Nick grumbled.  Lynn attempted a protest, but clammed up at the realization she had no concrete argument for sparing the artist. She replaced her now-clean glasses and pouted.

The scene would have been gory, had it not been for 200 years of humid air and sewer water etching off the dried blood into a red stain on the brick tunnel walls.  Stashed in a cranny at the farthest end of the sewer had been a moldy mattress, a machete, two skeletons at an impassive embrace, and a pair of white chalk X’s marking the scene as one last exhibition in the murderous gallery.  A pile of holotapes and a recorder lay at the foot of the scene, Lynn already having listened through the killer’s diaries.

While there was no flesh left for the worms, the skeletons still retained tatters of the last clothes they ever wore.  The large one had on a button-down shirt and tie, and the smaller was in a practical but otherwise nice dress.  Nick bent down to get a better look, turning over the skeletons.

“The killer must have been white collar,” he paused. “And a decent taste in threads, too.  Had a tie just like this before the war.  Jenny gave it to me- Gave it to human Nick.”  He reached over and dug around in the large skeleton’s trouser pockets.

“Considering the scenery, the killer was preying on young families- mostly women and children.  Couldn’t get his kicks like any other joe shmoe so he had to contrive some hellish power fantasy down here.  Abandoned service tunnel.  Nobody would find the bodies for months.  Business guy must have put the ‘executive’ in ‘executive board.’”  He chuckled at his own joke.

“What’s the point of checking the body, anyway?  It’s not like you can arrest a corpse,” Lynn deadpanned as the detective withdrew the killer’s wallet.  Nick paused, raised an eyebrow.

“I have a morbid curiosity, I wonder if this would have been a case handled by my colleagues.”  He flipped through the dried leather billfold, halfheartedly gesturing to the smaller skeleton.

“I guess the job fell to this plainclothes officer.  Poor woman.”

“Pretty terrible way to go, if you ask me.  Stabbed to death in a place nobody will ever find you,” Lynn said somberly.

As Nick pulled out the creep’s ID, his sly grin faded into heartsink.

“Well, at least that solves _one_ mystery.”

***

October 20th, 2077

Officer Nick Valentine slipped down the manhole under the flickering streetlight of the vacant alleyway.  The cover was a hassle to get off on his own.  It was times like this he wished he still had a partner on the beat.  After Jenny, Nick couldn’t handle the daily duties of a beat cop.  It was too much. He transferred to the investigation division.  It didn’t pay as reliably but was less soul crushing.  

The metal ladder was slick with condensation as he climbed down into the abysmal tunnel. He had a lead on the location of the Fens Phantom, delivered from the phantom itself. The tape had slipped into his paperwork earlier that week, making it gravely clear he was to come alone. The case was transferred out of his division after a whistleblower in the department published confidential information on what was know known publically as a _“legally dubious”_ investigation.  It wasn’t his job anymore, but Nick couldn't sit around in good conscious know that the tape will be filed away into obscurity while a killer is on the loose. So Nick came alone, knowing full well the risk he took by not bringing a partner.  Maybe it was better this way.

He was armed with only a flashlight, pistol, and a list of the dead.  He had been instructed to bring a tape recorder. Once back on solid ground, he retrieved the flashlight, illuminating the tunnel. He was greeted to the putrid stench of the abandoned sewer and the morbid tableau of a rotting corpse posed in a way to suggest fishing. On the end of its fishing line was a single severed head, long, matted hair looming ominously above the water.  Marked in chalk below the fisher were 2 X’s, the number of deaths used to make this particular piece.  The description matched local rumors of a shadowy figure making the sculptural equivalent of a snuff film.  Nick bit his tongue to avoid gagging, fumbling for the description of the missing.  Sure enough, the corpses vaguely resembled a pair of blurry dot-matrix faces on the crumpled paper.  The final resting place of these folks was to be the oppressive darkness of the sewer, but unfortunately the nightmare was just beginning. In the inky air, he couldn't see any eyes but knew he was being watched. He sighed, tucking the sheet back into his pocket and descended further into the sewer.

In the darkness, his foot kicked something small and and plastic.  It skittered across the ground.  A holotape, as the officer was promised.  He picked it up and turned it over in his hand.  The orange cover was scratched from his encounter in the dark.  A label affixed to the side read, in small, neat cursive “Dear Detective.”  

_Detective Valentine.  Inaccurate, bit it has a nice ring to it.  Just like Sam Spade._

He loaded the tape into the player with a satisfying click.  He hit play, feeling the reels gently turn from inside the machine.  An almost inhumanly deep voice cooed to him, inviting Nick to drink in the visual pleasures of their wonderful art.  The killer’s words dripped with honey, making Nick’s stomach do somersaults inside of him.  

“ _Here we are, detective. If you followed my instructions, you're alone. And well, if you aren't I've already left. You better be alone. Well, come on in. I've put my work on display down here, and I'd very much like you to see it._ ”

The tape ended, and once again the officer followed the darkness of the sewer. He was left to his own breathing and the ambience of the underground cavern, but there was no doubt now that he was being watched.

He was greeted to a second morbid scene, a nearly jovial rendition of a barbecue. 6 X’s marked the spot.  An entire family slain. A patio chair was filled with the remains of a being wearing an apron while children “played” nearby. The only aspect he was able to get a good look at before vomiting was of yet another severed head on a rusty grill. Presented between the teeth was a second holotape. The officer had a job to do. Nick turned away from the scene and played the tape. The Phantom’s sickly voice crooned to him once again.

“ _Life up there is so exhausting. Down here, I really get to live. I’m happy to share it with you today, Detective_.”

Nick nearly dropped the recorder as the killer happily revealed their motive.  Of all the hobbies in the world, the sick bastard resorted to using real people in his arts and crafts because they couldn’t stand the thought of going about day-to-day life.  Nick spat the taste of vomit from his mouth, trying to clear the scene from his mind. Only the Fens phantom to find. Only the phantom to take down.

The scenes became less defined and more abstract as the cavern led on. X’s nearly lined the walls as people were contorted grotesquely like dolls. It seemed the bodies were getting almost fresher. Nick’s heart raced inside his chest. His hand shook, blurring the names on the list as he forced himself to take attendance.

_This can't be right. This is surely too many people._

The only auditory indication that he was truly alone was of the dripping of the old pipes and the sound of his own footsteps. The third tape was placed next to a pile of neatly folded but grimy clothes. As Nick played the tape, he took a quick look at the stack. None of them seemed to be of the same size, confirming his suspicion that these are from the victims. Nick’s mind wondered off, glazing over the Phantom’s saccharine words as he felt the lives of these folks slip between his fingertips.

_“I am getting so anxious about our meeting, detective. You know, I think I have only ever wanted someone to know me. And really, I can't think of anyone who knows me as well as you do. I am your object of fascination, and you have become mine. It is humbling, detective.”_

He let the reel play itself out, the popping and whirring of the empty tape amplified by the tunnels.  As the noise dimmed, Nick was caught nearly off guard as a louder echo of footfalls replied from deeper in the sewer.

He picked up the pace, sweeping the flashlight from side to side for any signs of life.

“Hello?” He called out, drawing his gun.  

A yelp responded. Nick bolted to the source.

“IS ANYONE THERE?” He shouted.

“Help! I’m trapped!” A voice replied in desperation. The plea cried out like a light in the tunnel. _Remain calm. The killer could still be here._ Nick dashed blindly around a corner, nearly falling into the canal of fetid sewage. At the far end of the tunnel was a woman propped up on a mattress, hands tied behind her back. She was disheveled and leaning up against the wall for support. Nick didn't figure the Phantom savored their victims before the kill, but the lady could have the dirt on his whereabouts.

“Oh thank goodness!” The woman gasped, wincing at the sudden brightness of his flashlight. Her hair was wild.  Her practical dress was damp from the wet air of the sewer.  The woman's face, though, was surprisingly soft in the face of fear.  

“The Phantom is close by, there’s not much time!” She said, panicked words drizzled sweet with a surprisingly sing song voice. Nick dug his badge out from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Officer Nick Valentine, Boston Police Department,” he identified himself. Her face lit up. He was scared out of his mind but couldn't show it. Nick lowered the gun, kneeling beside the woman. He spoke low in his most professional tone.

“Are you alright, Miss? Do you know where the Phantom is now?”

The woman furrowed her brow.

“I know but he’s watching us, can you untie me first?” She whispered, nodding to the hands hidden behind her back. Nick leaned in. “Thanks, detective,” the she sighed earnestly.

Before Nick could react, the woman grabbed him by the shoulder and plunged the broad tip of a machete into his stomach.  Nick’s button down bloomed red from the stem of the knife. His scream echoed off the walls, nearly shaking the ground before dying down in the earth. Almost automatically, his fingers found the safety of the gun and he fired it off in the direction of the Phantom. The bullet stuck her left shoulder, instantly drenching her dress with her own blood. An artery severed. Neither were long for this world. Nick scrambled backwards on the mattress, machete still lodged deep within his torso. Removing the knife would make it worse, but so would leaving it in. The Phantom clamped a hand over the fountain of blood.

“Why… why did you do all this?” Nick strained through his teeth. He unsheathed the machete from his body, casting it aside. The taste of iron filled his mouth.

“I just wanted you to appreciate my art, detective,” the Phantom lilted.

“I don't understand, and the tapes…?”

“Art is subjective. Why do anything? To fit in? It's so exhausting,” blood seeped through her fingers. “Haven't you ever played around with a holotape recorder? If you slow down a tape, it almost sounds like a different person.” 

She pulled herself over to the officer, taking his tape recorder, and inserting a fresh tape with one hand.  She held down the fast forward and record buttons at the same time, making the little machine work overtime.  She brought the mic close to her mouth and recorded the last tape.

" _I didn't want to hurt you, detective. I didn't want to hurt you, but you hurt me first. Now I know you didn't mean those things you said. And I forgive you, detective. It doesn't matter anymore. Now you are here with me. And we have all the time in the world to get to know each other,_ " the Phantom sang in her true voice.  She ejected the tape and tossed it limply to him.

Nick’s vision blurred. Everything beyond his nose became a splotchy red haze as he gradually bled out onto the dirty mattress. The Phantom lifted up her sticky hand, letting the blood pour from the wound. She dug out a stray piece of chalk from her pocket. She weakly lifted it up to the wall.

“But I thank you, detective, for helping me with my masterpiece,” the Fens Phantom smiled, etching a pair of white X’s above her head.

**Author's Note:**

> The Fens Phantom was one of the few bits of Fo4 that wasn't spoiled for me, and left me curious even after my encounter.  
> Happy Halloween! 
> 
>  
> 
> I say even though I started writing this back in July.


End file.
